Thursday, October 18, 2007

A new study has been released out of that bastion of bastard-calling, England. Turns out that swearing at work can be a good thing. Apparently, it can boost morale and create solidarity among the workforce.

Well, I knew I had to do something with this information.

We’ve been going through a complete corporate reorganization here at work. It’s affecting more than a thousand people. Needless to say, tensions are running pretty high. Some people have been put out of jobs. Others have been put in jobs that are pretty miserable. Everyone’s been testy and on edge. So, as usual, it was Donkey the working peon to the rescue.

I sent out a memo to the entire marketing communications department here at work along with a copy of the article.

“Dear Marketing Communications Department,

I know many of you are having a rough time with the current reorganization. You’re frustrated, flustered, confused, and feeling a little bit helpless. I am too. I wanted you all to know that I’m there for you.

To demonstrate this, I’m designating the time of 2:00–2:30 for you to come into my office and swear at me. That’s right. You heard me. Swear. At. Me. Research has shown that it can be healthy for the workplace.

Hope to see you then,

Donkey”

The line started at 1:50. Before 2:00, it was ten people deep. I work with almost all women, many of which are nearly old enough to be my mother. The hallway was wall-to-wall skirts. 2:00 rolled around and in they rolled, one-by-one, cursing. Cursing like a sailor. Cursing like a Tourette’s Syndrome patient off her meds. Cursing like part of a George Carlin special. Cursing like a rap star. Cursing, cursing, cursing, for a solid 30 minutes. Building a wall of obscenities that blocked out the sun.

I knew women could curse, but I didn’t know they could curse like this. I heard things so vile that I never heard working five years as a bouncer in a bar. The blue streak that came out of their mouths ripped open a hole in the ozone layer as it shot out into space. I’m sure there’s some meteor in its path that will be obliterated by their combination of f-bombs.

When 2:30 came, they left sweating and shaking with their newfound vocal power. As the last one left my office, I reached down and clicked off the recorder. I packaged it with my memo to H.R. on how working with so many women has led to the creation of a hostile workplace. I was contemplating filing suit. This tape, I told them, was just a sampling of what I had to put up with every day.

So now, the only question is, “How much are they willing to settle for?”